


A Dash Of Sweetness

by Ginia



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Day 3, Fluff, Gladnis Week, M/M, Misunderstandings, brotherhood era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 04:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12927663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginia/pseuds/Ginia
Summary: This isn’t exactly the first time that Iris has come to the Citadel unannounced and uninvited, to see either Gladio, their father, or the Prince. It’s not even the first time that no one has been available to receive her, in which case she’s always been taken to a waiting room and been attended to by Palace servants. So why in the hell is Ignis suddenly with her, when he probably has meetings he’s supposed to be in, or laundry to do, or some other bullshit?The only logical explanation that Gladio can see is that Ignis, tired of his sister running amuck in the Citadel, has gone into full mother hen mode and has taken it upon himself to, what? Reprimand or discipline her somehow, he assumes.





	A Dash Of Sweetness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PorcelainLove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorcelainLove/gifts).



> My Gladnis Week Day 3 entry! Yay! <33
> 
> HUGE thanks and love to PorcelainLove who let me take this plot bunny and run with it. You're a gem.

“But I want to see Gladdy!” A high-pitched wail pierces its way down the corridor like an arrow, followed by the unmistakable staccato of small feet pounding a petulant rhythm against polished marble.

Empathy flares in Ignis’s heart at the sounds of guards quietly attempting to shush and soothe the irate child, having considerable experience with doing the same for the Prince over the years. There are some who’d say he he’s had far more than his fair share, truth be told, given that he’s only a few years older than his charge.

He can’t actually see the scene from here, the corridor turns to the right a few yards away, but he can see it all in his mind’s eye: a red-faced adolescent in the throes of a tantrum of epic proportions, flustered and embarrassed guards on their knees, trying in vain to reason with that which absolutely cannot be reasoned with.

Ignis finds himself dithering there in the hallway, juggling his briefcase and an armful of reports, torn between continuing straight towards his office and his own work, or turning right and coming to the staff’s aid like some angel of mercy. He has quite enough to be getting on with today without adding the burdens of others to the already backbreaking load he’s carrying, so he really _should_ continue on his own way. No one would blame him; it’s a well-known and accepted fact that the Prince’s Advisor is being ground to dust bit by bit by the millstone of duty and obligation. If anyone doesn’t have time for this nonsense it’s Ignis Scientia.

And then he hears it, the soft puff of air, an exasperated sigh falling from lips that can no longer maintain the façade of calm in the face of overwhelming frustration. It’s a sound that he knows he’s been guilty of in the past when the limits of his own boundless patience are tested.

In a rush, like a hideous kaleidoscope, fragments of memory merge and twist together in his mind--all of the times that he has weathered the storm of Noct’s tantrums, all of the moments of frustration and exhaustion when he would have given anything for some relief, for some help.

 _Bloody hell,_ he can’t turn his back on his fellow man in their time of dire need. He’ll deserve every sleepless night and every day he’s taken for granted if he callously walks away now.

Steeling himself, he rounds the corner, just as the little girl’s screeching reaches new heights. As he suspected, a collection of harried guards and other Citadel staff members are hovering around a familiar-looking young girl, hands planted firmly on her hips, little chin jutting out in defiance of the adults futilely attempting to exert their authority over her.

“I said I wanna see Gladdy! I don’t wanna go to a waiting room! Where’s. My. Brother?!”

A grimace contorts Ignis’s features before he rearranges them into a mask of gentle calm. Now that he sees her, he recognizes Gladio’s little sister. While they are not formally acquainted, he has seen the girl clinging to either Gladio or Clarus’s side during various Citadel functions.

Weaving his way smoothly into the throng of concerned adults, he clears his throat to gain some attention. The wave of relief rushing over the guards is almost palpable.

“Lady Amicitia,” he begins politely, and immediately Iris’s demeanor changes, her posture straightens upon hearing the honorific, shoulders squaring in pride rather than defiance. An Amicitia through and through. “Your brother is at an off-site training exercise.”

Her face falls and her lower lip wobbles menacingly. “But, but, I checked the calendar! Daddy is in meetings but Gladdy doesn’t have anything scheduled! Nothing!” She stamps her little foot to emphasize her point.

“I already tried to explain to her…” one of the unhelpful guards explains casting a forlorn look Ignis’s way. The Advisor sighs and shoves his glasses firmly up the bridge of his nose.

“Gladio was recruited at the last minute to assist with the exercise. Please accept my apologies on behalf of the Crownsguard for the trouble. It’s not your fault but ours.” He smiles gently and is relieved to see the girl’s fury subsiding, if only slightly. He knows better than most how rarely adults apologize to children, and how far an apology can go in mending a sour mood.

“Oh,” Iris murmurs, looking disappointed but resigned. “I understand. Gladio has an important job, right?”

Ignis nods agreeably. “Yes. And as a thank you to him, I was on my way to the palace kitchens to prepare a bit of a treat for him for when he returns,” he lies smoothly. “Would you be so kind as to assist me? Unless you would prefer to wait in one of the receiving rooms…”

Like sunshine after a rainstorm, Iris’s expression brightens. Something bright and hopeful flickers in dark brown eyes and it’s almost enough to make Ignis forget about the devastation this is going to wreak upon his schedule. _Almost_.

“Gladdy’s really not here right now?” she asks one more time, as if testing him, as if trying to catch him in one of the many lies that children instinctively know they’re told by adults.

Ignis lowers himself to one knee so that kind green eyes can meet mournful brown. “He’s really not, but he will return in a few hours.”

“And we can make him something?”

Ignis nods solemnly. “Yes. Does he like sugar cookies?”

“Yes!” Iris bobs up and down in place, pigtails and skirts flapping in unison.

“Then, my lady, if you would be so kind as to accompany me, the kitchens are this way,” he nods towards a side corridor.

Iris nods, the barest hint of a smile finding purchase on her lips, carving a deep dimple into plump cheeks. “Okay!”

Ignis shifts his paperwork to the crook of the same arm that’s carrying his briefcase, freeing up a hand to offer to Iris to hold. Around him the guards draw a collective breath, probably praying to their favourite Astral for Ignis to take this tiny terror away form them.

“Umm,” Iris bites her lip uncertainly as she regards Ignis’s proffered hand, little pink shoes scuffing nervously against the tiles. “I just remembered that Daddy says I shouldn’t go off with people I don’t know…”

“Ahh,” Ignis smiles gently. “My apologies, I’ve not introduced myself. Forgive me, my lady. I’m Ignis. Ignis Scientia. His Highness’s advisor. I work with your brother.”

“Ohhh right!” Iris’s demeanor changes yet again with the fickleness only a child can display. “I remember now, okay! You’re the one with the stick!”

Brow furrowing, he casts Iris a quizzical look from over the tops of his glasses. “Stick? What stick?”

The little girl nods, wide-eyed and solemn. “Yeah. Gladdy says you’re the one with the stick uhh,“ she trails off awkwardly. “Shoot, Gladdy gets mad when I say that word.” Biting her lip, she casts furtive glances to either side before leaning in close, voice pitched to a low hiss. “He says you have a stick up your tushie. Except he doesn’t say _tushie_.” She slaps a hand over her mouth guiltily.

Ignis is torn between laughter and tears.  This is undoubtedly the most adorable manner in which he’s ever been insulted. The familiar insult still chafes, but the hurt is somewhat lessened by the delivery.

Swallowing hard, he firmly tamps down the familiar rush of hurt feelings. It’s silly, he knows, to let simple words affect him like this. And if this were the first time that Gladio or someone else had insinuated that he is dull, cold, a prig, or the proud owner of a stick up his posterior, then perhaps it wouldn’t bother him so much. But this isn’t the first time, nor the hundredth. If insults were knives he would be the victim of death by a thousand tiny cuts.

Iris, he knows, is just a child, innocently parroting the big brother whom she holds in great esteem. And so he shoves the hurt aside more easily than he ordinarily might, and taking her small hand in his, leads her towards the palace kitchens where apparently he’s going to spend the afternoon baking cookies for a man who thinks he has a stick up his ass and even says so around his baby sister.

Ignis sighs.

When they arrive in the kitchens, Ignis carefully tucks his briefcase and reports on the very top of the cabinets, out of reach of sticky fingers and errant puffs of flour. With a chivalrous hand he then gently assists Iris up onto one of the wooden stools lining the counter.

“Just a moment, please,” he requests. “I just want to text your brother so that he knows where to find you when he gets back.”

Iris nods, all dimples and smiles now that she’s certain that she’s not about to be evicted from the palace or relegated to some dreary waiting room. Unable to help himself, he matches her infectious smile with one of his own, as he smoothly pulls his phone from his breast pocket. Swiping down the list of his contacts, he taps Gladio’s name and quickly types out a message.

 **Ignis (3:52pm):** Your sister stopped by the Citadel to see you. She is presently under my charge in the kitchens. Please come at your earliest convenience, she’s quite looking forward to seeing you.

 

Several hours later a small convoy of black trucks drive through the Citadel gates, gravel crunching beneath heavy tires. Gladio sighs and stretches his arms overhead, grateful that the Marshal let him ride in the flatbed rather than try to squash his bulk into the cab like last time.

Not having any gear to worry about for once, he’s free to hop down the moment they stop and after waving a casual farewell to his teammates, he heads up the mountain of steps leading into the Citadel.

As a habit, he pulls his phone out of his pants pocket and checks it while he walks, seeing he missed a few texts and emails while he was in the field and without service.

When he comes to the missive from Ignis regarding his sister he stops dead in his tracks. Behind him another member of the Crownsguard thuds into him, mumbling an apology that Gladio doesn’t really deserve, seeing as he’s the one who stopped abruptly in the middle of the steps.

The fuck does Ignis mean, Iris is _under his charge_?

Gladio frowns, brows knitting until it looks like he’s sporting a unibrow, the hand not holding his phone curling into a white-knuckled fist.

This isn’t exactly the first time that Iris has come to the Citadel unannounced and uninvited, to see either Gladio, their father, or the Prince. It’s not even the first time that no one has been available to receive her, in which case she’s always been taken to a waiting room and been attended to by Palace servants. So why in the hell is Ignis suddenly with her, when he probably has meetings he’s supposed to be in, or laundry to do, or some other bullshit?

The only logical explanation that Gladio can see is that Ignis, tired of his sister running amuck in the Citadel, has gone into full mother hen mode and has taken it upon himself to, what? Reprimand or discipline her somehow, he assumes.  

He can’t bear to imagine what Iris has been subjected to for the past—he checks the timestamp on the message and curses—nearly three hours. Knowing Ignis it probably involved long drawn-out lectures on the deplorable state of the average young person’s diet, or a presentation on the history of old Solheim. Maybe he’s set her to writing an essay about why it’s important to call ahead before going to visit someone.

He glares at the message again, lips moving silently. They’re in the kitchens. The _kitchens_? The _fuck_?

Gladio wonders if Ignis somehow thinks he can use his baby sister as some sort of slave labor to help him with his own duties, or if maybe he’s punishing Iris for intruding on the Citadel when she wasn’t invited. Yeah, the latter seems more likely, seems more like that stuck up little shit. The thought makes his blood run cold and his temper rage hot.

Visions pop into his head of his sister sobbing over a mountain of potatoes with a vegetable peeler in hand while Ignis glowers down at her, or of Iris with her hands red and raw, scrubbing away at a sink piled high with dishes, while Ignis lectures her on the proper way to remove caked on grease.

Stuffing his phone hastily in his pocket, he climbs the steps two at a time and breezes past the guards at the door, not even pausing to apologize when he feels his elbow accidentally connect with the man’s ribs. It was an accident, he can always apologize later. For now he needs to rescue his little sister from whatever menial drudgery Ignis has set her to.

Just because Ignis has no life and wouldn’t know a good time if one punched him in the nose, it doesn’t mean he gets to drag Iris down with him, damnit.

* * *

With a crash and a bang Gladio throws open the double doors to the kitchen, his face already twisted into a furious scowl, body tense, muscles coiled tight and ready to spring to his sister’s defense.

The sight that greets his blazing amber eyes pulls him up short and he skids to a stop, big hands reaching out to clutch at the nearest countertop for balance.

A fine dusting of flour coats every kitchen surface within a 10-foot radius, and at the epicenter of the culinary carnage sits Iris, icing sugar clinging to her cheeks, a sprinkle-covered cookie held in each hand, round face frozen in an exuberant grin that slowly begins to melt into a confused frown the longer Gladio just stands there, gawking at her.

“Iris!” He gasps for breath, a hand clutching his chest. “Are you okay? I thought you were with Ignis!”

“I am!” Iris shrugs and takes a huge bite out of one of her cookies. She speaks around a mouthful of cookie, crumbs spraying everywhere. “E’s wigh hewe!”

“Wha?” Gladio blinks stupidly at her, but before he can decipher what she’d been trying to say, a refrigerator door bangs shut that Gladio hadn’t even noticed was open, revealing Ignis himself. He’s holding a tall glass of milk, which he carefully sets down on the counter in front of Iris. Iris says something that is probably a thankyou but it’s impossible to tell around another mouthful of cookie. Eagerly she gulps down half of the glass in one go.

Bewildered, Gladio’s gaze flicks from Iris to Ignis and then back again, trying to make sense of what’s going on here.

“Welcome back,” Ignis breaks the silence with his customary grace, all polite words and posh accent.

Iris manages to swallow everything in her mouth without choking—an Amicitia family talent for sure—and turns her brightest smile his way. “Hiya Gladdy!” With a bounce and a jump she launches herself off of the kitchen stool, small arms wrapping as far around his waist as they can go. She’s getting flour and sugar all over his black uniform pants but he doesn’t give a shit.

“Hey there little monkey,” he rumbles fondly at her, absently tugging on one of her pigtails. “What’s been going on?” He addresses Iris but his gaze settles firmly on Ignis. Flour is dusted through his hair, making it appear more gray than brown. He even has powder on his vest and those perfectly pressed pants of his. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen the Advisor looking so unkempt and undignified. It’s not a bad look on the guy, if he’s being honest.

“I came to see you and Daddy but you weren’t here!” Her little foot kicks at the floor irritably at the memory and Gladio winces. He can only imagine the fit the kid threw. When floor kicking is involved it’s never pretty, there are always casualties.

“Aww I’m so sorry. I got dragged off help with a little field exercise. I came right here as soon as I got back, I promise.” He pats her back gently.

“It’s okay!” She peels herself off of his legs, head tilting back to flash a bright smile up at him. “Mr. Ignis explained where you were. He helped me make cookies for you for when you got back! Look!” She jabs a tiny finger in the direction of the counter, where a huge pile of cookies are set out on a plate, covered with multi-coloured sprinkles and garishly pink icing.

“He did?” Gladio glances from Iris to Ignis again. “What else did you guys do?” Suspicion mars his tone, he can’t help it. There’s no way that his sister was at Ignis’s mercy for nearly three hours and walked away unscathed, the proud owner of cookies and milk. Literally no way. Ignis isn’t nearly that nice. No one is.

Iris shrugs. “Not much. The cookies took awhile. Well actually the icing took awhile, because Ignis kept getting the colour wrong.” She wrinkles her nose. “How difficult can hot pink icing _be_?”

Gladio casts his gaze around, eyeing a towering pile of mixing bowls and saucepans, wooden spoons and plastic spatulas. Based on the amount of sugar everywhere and puddles of spilled flood colouring, he suspects the answer is _very_. _Very difficult_. Iris takes her pink very seriously, he has not-very-fond memories of being dragged from store to store, trying to find just the right shade of pink shoes or school bag, or whatever she needs. Once she fixes her mind on what she wants, she’s always determined to get it, and will accept no substitutes.

He hears Ignis make a soft choking sound which he quickly covers with a fake cough. When Gladio glances at him their eyes meet and he’s stunned to see amusement shining in those usually serious green eyes. It almost looks like he’s trying his best to not laugh.

Ignis’s lips twitch and he quickly covers his face with a hand and turns away, busying himself with assembling an array of cleaning supplies.

Gladio is yanked forcefully from his thoughts by his little sister, who is thrusting a cookie up into the air, waving it under his nose.

“Here! Try them! They’re good! Like really really good! Mr. Ignis is the best baking teacher ever!”

Gladio laughs and obediently takes the cookie, eating half of it in one big bite. He chews thoughtfully, crunching through the cookie which is just the right amount of soft to offset the crunch of the sprinkles. The icing is rich and not too sweet, with a hint of something citrus, strawberry maybe, to match the garish colour Iris wanted.

Expectant brown eyes peer up at him and Iris shifts her weight nervously from foot to foot, obviously waiting on his verdict. He swallows, and assures her with all sincerity that the cookies are delicious, because they really are.

“Thanks, Iris. These are the greatest cookies in the history of cookies. That was really nice of you.”  He snags another one from the plate because _damn_ they’re delicious.

Iris too reaches for another cookie and shrugs modestly. “You’re welcome. It’s the least I can do, since you’re always doing things for me. And anyway it was Mr. Ignis’s idea.” She makes a face. “These stupid guards wanted me to wait in some stuffy old waiting room for, like, ever, and then Mr. Ignis was like ‘No fair maiden, thou shalt not perish from boredom, let us away to the kitchen to make cookies!’ and stuff, and so here we are!” Iris beams up at him, pleased as punch. From off to one side he definitely hears Ignis chuckling, likely amused by Iris’s dramatic re-enactment of her “rescue”.

Gladio is, well, surprised would be putting it mildly. His mind is good and blown, he’s probably lost more than a few brain cells to the trauma. But Iris has no reason to lie about this. It’s just so hard to believe that Ignis No Fun Allowed Scientia spent his afternoon babysitting Iris and baking cookies for her, and for _him_. Gladio tries to be polite enough to the guy’s face and all, but he knows damn well that Ignis doesn’t owe him any favours.

He really doesn’t deserve this level of kindness, and he’s suddenly overcome with gratitude, and just a hint of guilt for how he’d jumped to all of the wrong conclusions.

“Sounds like you had quite a day.” He smiles fondly at her.

“Uh huh.” She yawns, cookie crumbs falling down her chin. “Sleepy though. Can we go home? With the cookies.”

Gladio tweaks one of her pigtails fondly. “Better get you something to eat besides cookies, and then to bed, you had a busy day, monkey.”

Iris giggles and swats at his hand. A brief but furious tickle fight ensues, which Gladio pretends to lose. When they straighten up again, laughing and breathless, Gladio sees that Ignis is just pressing the lid onto a metal tin stuffed full of cookies. Wordlessly the Advisor holds it out to him to take.

Gladio takes the tin and a sudden flare of guilt stabs at his heart. He’s definitely misjudged Ignis and the proof of that is resting in his hands.

“You two have a good night. I’ll take care of the cleanup.” Ignis smiles gently, his eyes kind and shining with warmth as he regards the brother and sister. “Iris, it was a pleasure, thank you for assisting me today.” He bows gently at the waist.

Iris dips into a clumsy curtsy and giggles happily.

The knife in his heart twists and digs in a bit deeper at that. Shit. Glancing around he remembers the absolute disaster the kitchen is. Flour and sugar everywhere, a mountain of dishes to be cleaned, and who knows what else. His gaze catches on the briefcase and stack of reports Ignis had tucked carefully out of reach and he groans inwardly, the last few pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

Of course Ignis hadn’t actually been on his way to work in the kitchens when he came across Iris. He was on his way home, or to his office to do paperwork. The selfless idiot had tried, and succeeded, at keeping his sister happy and out of trouble in his absence. He could have just let the guards take her to a waiting room. Iris isn’t his responsibility, and Ignis has plenty of actual responsibilities to keep him busy without adding Iris to the mix.

And now he was going to spend fuck knows how long cleaning up the mess that Iris made (because of course she did, he’s seen Ignis baking before at Noct’s apartment and he never spills so much as a grain of sugar) while they march off with the cookies he did most of the work on.

_Fucking hell._

Gladio shifts the tin of cookies from hand to hand, awkwardly staring at the floor where he can see Iris’s footprints embedded in flour. He’s had a long day and really just wants to go home, have dinner, maybe have a nice bath, and then curl up with a book and a plate of these cookies. But he can’t. His honor as a man demands that he clean up after Iris. It’s the least he can do, after Ignis went to so much trouble for Iris’s sake.

“Hey monkey, uh, maybe we should stay a bit and help Ignis clean up, yeah? It’s not polite to leave a big mess.”

Iris’s face scrunches up but she nods.

Ignis, however, shakes his head and holds his hands up placatingly. Gladio notices a streak of red food colouring on his sleeve.

“There’s no need. You must be tired after that field exercise, and Iris really ought to eat a balanced meal soon.” Another smile, warm and genuine as the last graces Ignis’s features. It’s a good look on him, makes him look younger—makes him look his actual age. “Really,” he insists gently but firmly. “I don’t mind.”

Something in Gladio cracks, shatters, and reshapes itself. Where once he’d held a mental image of Ignis as prickly, cold, and perpetually dreary, now he sees Ignis as kind, patient, and unfairly handsome even when covered in flour and dye and who knows what else Iris managed to get on him.

Gladio will admit it, he’s a sucker for people who are just genuinely nice people, especially if they’re nice to his baby sister. It was Noct’s compassion and chivalry for Iris once upon a time that helped bridge the gap between Prince and Shield, and now it seems that Ignis’s kindness and patience with Iris is laying the foundation for a bridge between the two of them as well.

“Ignis,” Gladio mumbles, and he’s surprised at the husky tone that’s come over his voice. He clears his throat and tries again. “Ignis, it’ll take you forever to clean up, and you already spent time you probably don’t have helpin’ my sister. I can’t just burden you with all this.” He gestures at the disaster zone of a kitchen. The head chef might just condemn the place and demand it be demolished and rebuilt.

“It’s fine. It’s worth it to see how happy Iris is.”

“You’re amazing,” Gladio breathes almost reverently. He means it. Ignis is amazing and he feels like a moron for not seeing it until now. He’s not the stuck up asshole Gladio thought he was. He’s thoughtful and kind, with a dry sense of humour that lets him see the amusement and whimsy in the middle of a disaster. He’s a young man doing his best to manage an overwhelming workload. He’s quiet and serious, sure, but that doesn’t make him cold. It’s how he probably has to cope with all of the expectations people have for him.

“You’re really, really amazing,” Gladio finds himself repeating, because he suddenly realizes that he’s probably never said anything this nice to Ignis before, and the guy probably deserves more compliments than he gets.

Striking seafoam green eyes widen slightly before shyly looking away. It’s hard to tell through a dusting of flour but he thinks Ignis might be blushing. The other man quickly ducks his head and sidesteps to the sink where the dishes are waiting to be scrubbed.

“Off with the both of you now, or I really shall be here all night. Shoo, let me clean in peace.”

Gladio chuckles and with a resigned shrug he tucks the tin of cookies under one arm and gently steers Iris towards the doors.

As they make to leave, Iris waves and calls a cheery “Bye Mr. Ignis!” Ignis waves a soapy hand in farewell.

* * *

Later that night—far too late, according to Ignis’s usual schedule--he settles down at his desk with his briefcase and the reports he should have already read and summarized for the Prince by now. He should be annoyed with himself for letting the little Amicitia girl distract him, and for declining Gladio’s offer to clean the kitchen. Now he’s horribly off schedule and will be lucky if his head touches his pillow at all tonight.

He’s not annoyed, though. Seeing the guards’ relief when he stopped Iris’s tantrums, seeing how happy and carefree she was while under his charge, and seeing Gladio’s honest appreciation for him afterwards make it all worthwhile.

He smiles despite the looming all-nighter. He has a minifridge full of Ebony in his office, he’ll be fine.

Before he opens the first report,, he pulls out his phone to check his messages. There’s a picture from Noct of him and Prompto playing some videogame, and a reminder from his uncle of their plans for brunch tomorrow. Finally there’s a text alert from Gladio, which is taps on.

A laugh bubbles up from deep within him when he sees the lopsided and slightly blurry selfie Gladio took with Iris, both with cookies stuffed in their mouths, flashing huge grins and cheerful thumbs up to the camera. Afterwards Gladio had written:

 **Gladiolus (8:24pm):** Hey. Thanks again for looking after Iris and for cleaning up. She really had a great time. That was really cool of you. You’re an okay guy. Maybe I can pay you back sometime? Take you out for coffee or a nice steak dinner? Whatever you want, my treat.

 **Gladiolus (8:29 pm):** Sorry. Didn’t mean for that to sound like I was asking you out on a date or something.

 **Gladiolus (8:33 pm):** Not that there’s anything wrong with someone asking you out. You’re an okay guy like I said.

 **Gladiolus (8:37 pm):** I mean you’re more than just okay. You’re crazy smart, and good at everything, and you were so nice and patient with Iris. You’re great. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

 **Gladiolus (8:51 pm):** Ignis?

 **Gladiolus (8:58 pm):** Crap, I hope you’re not mad. Are you mad? Did I scare you off? I’m sorry. I suck at this. Look, I’d like to take you out to dinner if you want. It can be a date or not a date. No pressure.

Ignis’s lips curl into a smile that grows broader until he finally laughs out loud.  Shaking his head, he taps out a quick response.

 **Ignis (9:22 pm):** Apologies, it took me some time to put the kitchen to rights. I only just saw your messages now. To clarify, I would be delighted to accompany you for dinner. I’m free Friday evening at 7:00 if you are?

Ignis doesn’t have time to set his phone down before Gladio’s answering text pops up.

 **Gladiolus (9:22 pm):** I’ll pick you up at 7!

 **Ignis (9:23 pm):** It’s a date, then.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
